


I'm Still Here

by Meg_Thilbo



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternative Universe- only thorin dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, Fíli and Kíli Live, Ghost!Thorin, I fix it all I promise :), I promise it has a happy ending, M/M, One Shot, PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4407968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meg_Thilbo/pseuds/Meg_Thilbo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Thorin dies, during the battle, he finds himself stuck between life and death, unable to contact the people around him and unable to move on to the halls of his father's. He follows Bilbo back to the Shire, watching him as the hobbit lives enough for them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Still Here

Thorin was dead... but he wasn’t gone.

 

He lingered, trapped between two worlds and unable to reach into either of them. Everything he touched, his fingers slipped through and every time he tried to speak, his voice was just an echo that went unheard by the people around him.

 

At first, Thorin had been confused as he watched his own body fall limp against the stone and Bilbo turn away to sob. He thought he must be dreaming, simply stuck in a nightmare where he was forced to watch his own death and funeral. Feelings of disgust washed through him when they buried him with the Arkenstone, he didn’t want the stone anywhere near him. Not after what it had driven him to do... to turn on his company... to turn on Bilbo. And yet, better the stone be buried with the mad King than fall into the hands of others whose minds may also fall victim to its power.

 

But even dreams shouldn't hurt this much and when he pulled at his own hair and tugged at his clothes, he didn’t wake up.

 

He tried talking to Bilbo, tried to tell him to stop crying and that he was alright, but then he realised Bilbo couldn’t hear him. No-one could. Balin, Dwalin and even Gandalf couldn’t hear him calling their names... couldn’t hear his cries of pain or his tears of frustration when he failed again and again to contact them.

 

With a heavy heart, Thorin trailed after Bilbo, feeling lost and afraid, not knowing what was going to happen next. He watched as Bilbo returned to his tent and curled up on the cot, letting his tears fall now that he was away from prying eyes. Pain flared in Thorin chest when Bilbo started sobbing his name into his pillow.

 

“Bilbo?” he tried again, but Bilbo didn’t hear him and any hope Thorin had left died in his chest. Moving to Bilbo’s side, he reached out and tried to stroke Bilbo’s hair, a gesture which had soothed the hobbit during the long Mirkwood nights. But his hand just fell past the curls, slipping through the air. He couldn’t feel them. In his anguish, Thorin collapsed onto the ground, falling to his knees and pulling his arms around himself as he tried to contain the feelings of despair which threatened to overwhelm him.

 

“I’m s-so sorry, Thorin,” Bilbo cried out suddenly and Thorin lifted his head, thinking Bilbo may finally be able to see him, but the hobbit was still curled with his back to him, sobs shaking his body. “It’s my fault.”

 

“No, no it’s not your fault, Bilbo. Please, Bilbo, It’s my fault, and mine alone,” Thorin cried out, trying again to touch Bilbo’s shoulder but his hand slipped through, falling back to his side.

 

“Why did you leave me?”

 

“I didn’t leave you,” Thorin insisted, “I’m still here.”

 

He was still here, and yet he was all alone. They both were.

 

* * *

 

 

Thorin followed Bilbo home, back to Bag-End. He couldn’t stay in Erebor and watch his failures be turned into legend. Bilbo needed him and he needed Bilbo, even if they couldn’t really have each other. It was torture watching Bilbo grieve for him, watch him lose nights of sleep and skip meals that he desperately needed.

 

When Bilbo returned home and found all his possessions missing, Thorin’s pain turned to anger. He wanted to be able to get it all back for him, he didn’t want Bilbo to lose his family’s possessions as Thorin once had. He cursed them, them and the Valar for denying him the chance to move on to the halls of his fathers. Surely his wrongs in life had not earned him such pain in death? Surely his life and future had been payment enough?

 

Sometimes Thorin believed he was alive. It was worse after he’d just died, but the delusions never went away. He’d imagine being able to hold Bilbo’s hand, that he was walking through market with Bilbo as a couple or walking Frodo through the woods to teach him how to fish, as his father had taught him. And when he came back to reality, Thorin would have a soft smile playing at his lips, as though he was simply thinking back on a fond memory.

 

But the delusions were not always pleasant.

 

Sometimes he saw his own body, or Azog’s body- just lying on the path or even in Bilbo’s smial. It took him a long time to recover from those episodes. It left him paranoid that he’d turn a corner and there they would be. He’d run from them at first, not coming home until he’d managed to convince himself that they weren’t real. They were just echoes of his past, the demons which shadowed him.

 

However, time as Thorin found, does have a manner of healing what was broken. It filled him with pride when he saw Bilbo take Frodo in. The hobbit was finally moving on with his life, and although he hadn’t forgotten Thorin, he’d found a way to get through the days without grief. He could look back on the good memories- Rivendell, the Carrock, Thorin holding him close in the shadow of Mirkwood and their night spent together in Lake Town before chaos had ripped it all apart.

 

Together, they watched the acorn grow into a towering tree. And that was where Bilbo often went to speak with Thorin, to tell him about his day as he sat on one of the low branches. And Thorin listened, replying even though Bilbo didn’t know he was there. For a moment at least, Thorin felt truly alive again, sat next to Bilbo as Hobbiton bustled by.

 

With time, Thorin finally began to laugh again. When he’d watch Bilbo chase off his greedy relatives and carry young Frodo on his shoulders, he couldn’t help but smile and share the Hobbit’s happiness. It reminded him of the days he’d spent in the Blue Mountains, becoming a second father to Fili and Kili after Vili had died. He’d tried to protect the boys from the horrors he’d had thrust upon him in his early life. He didn’t want them to be leading armies and guiding Durin’s Folk before they’d even come of age. But even Thorin could not protect them forever. Fili would now be King, guided by Balin and the rest of the company he would be sheltered from the scheming nobles that may aim to take advantage of the young dwarf’s inexperience.

 

The years passed and Thorin knew, from the letters Bilbo had received, that Fili had become a fine King and Erebor had begun to prosper once more. At least he’d given Durin’s Folk a chance to start again, even if Thorin had nearly thrown it all away.

 

He was glad that Bilbo did not romanticise Thorin’s deeds towards the end or emit anything he’d done or said during his goldsickness. Even if the dwarves now saw Thorin as a martyr who had died fighting for his home, he wanted at least some individuals to remember that he’d not been the King he could have been, the King he’d wanted to be. He was surprised when Bilbo did omit their relationship from the story, oh he wrote it to be sure, but he wrote it in a separate book- a small, green leather book which sat separate to the large red volume. As he watched Bilbo return again and again to the green book, he began to understand- Bilbo didn’t want their adventure to be a tragic love story, he wanted it to be a story which inspired others to appreciate the simple things in life, as Bilbo had been able to.

 

Standing over Bilbo’s shoulder, Thorin read ‘There and Back Again’ as Bilbo wrote it, his hair now grey and skin now wrinkled. But Bilbo would continue to be second to no-one in Thorin’s eyes, the simple ravishes of time could not take that away from him.

 

But even Thorin could not help but feel concerned as he noticed that Bilbo did not age as he should do and as he grew older, he talked to Thorin less and less. Instead, he talked to the ring in his pocket- a ring which Thorin had known nothing about until he’d seen Bilbo slip it on and disappear when his relatives had come knocking. Initially, Thorin had panicked, fearing he was spiralling into another delusion but then Bilbo had come back, as he always did. He didn’t know what the ring was, or what it was doing to Bilbo, but he slowly began to hate it as it took the moments he’d had with Bilbo away, leaving their tree standing alone and absent save for the few curious faunts who climbed it’s branches.

 

It had therefore, been a massive relief when Bilbo had left the ring behind and travelled to Rivendell. Even if Thorin was not pleased to find himself in the company of Elves once more, he was pleased to see Bilbo’s mind become clearer again and his hair whiten naturally. And yet, Thorin could not help but reach forward to try and steady Bilbo every time he stumbled or he struggled to make it up the many stairs in the Last Homely House, his legs becoming weak with age.

 

Thorin was the only one to escape aging, his skin and hair remaining as it had been the day he’d died, only his clothing changed- having been reduced to a simple tunic and breeches. He was thankful that he didn’t have the wounds Azog had unleashed on him, in fact he was free from all the scars he’d collected over his lifetime. It was as though his skin had been washed anew. He would have gone as far as to say he’d been ‘reborn’ if it was not for the fact that he was now just a soul trapped between life and death. Unable to move forwards and unable to move backwards.

 

* * *

 

 

Bilbo’s death was an event that Thorin bitterly dreaded. Once Bilbo died, he’d surely pass onto Yavanna’s pastures and have the peace he’d long deserved. Thorin would let Bilbo go if he knew that Bilbo would finally have what he had been denied. But he did not think he would be able to cope on his own. What would he do? Go back to Erebor? Haunt the footsteps of his nephews and their children?

 

The answer to that question came from an unexpected source- the Elves. Although, Thorin should not be really surprised- the Elves seemed to have all the answers, it was just a matter of whether or not they gave you them in an understandable manner.

 

And so, Thorin left Middle Earth behind on a ship to the Undying Lands with Bilbo, Frodo, Gandalf and the crew of Elves. One of them, Galadriel, unnerved him slightly- he could have sworn he saw her eyes pause of his form before looking to Frodo. But he quickly passed that off as paranoia, it had been 80 years since anyone had even looked at him.

 

* * *

 

 

Standing by Bilbo’s side in the morning light, Thorin watched the shores of the Undying lands come into view. He was so distracted by Bilbo, whose hair was slowly turning back to the honey-blonde it had once been and whose skin was becoming smooth once more, that he didn’t even notice that he could feel the warmth of the sun and the gentle sea breeze.

 

Thorin smiled gently as Bilbo returned to his youth, to how he had been when Thorin first saw him all those years ago. The curious glint in Bilbo’s eyes returned as the hobbit gazed out over the shore and he laughed when the ship broke over the crest of wave, showering them all in salty spray.

 

It was as the cold spray hit Thorin’s face that he realised that he could actually _feel._ All these years, he’d barely been able to feel the difference in temperature, not been able to feel the warmth of Bilbo’s skin or biting winds of winter. Lifting a hand, he rubbed the side of his face and pulled his hand away to stare at the beads of water that ran down his fingers like tears. His heart thudded in his chest, this must be a trick, he must be having another delusion or maybe his sanity had finally broken. ...Or perhaps, the Valar weren’t punishing him anymore... there was only one way to find out.

 

Taking a deep breath to still his shaking hands, Thorin called out, “Bilbo?” his voice coming clearer than it had done since he’d died.

 

Bilbo stiffened slightly but did not turn and Thorin half considered whether he’d reacted to something else but then the hobbit smiled sadly and said softly, “How can I help you, friend? Forgive me, but you have a voice quite like one I used to know... but I have not heard it in many a year.”

 

It was more than Thorin could take. _Bilbo could hear him!_ Tears stung his eyes and he gave a shaky sigh of relief, using all his self-control to stop himself from simply lifting Bilbo into his arms right then and there, Thorin took another step closer to the hobbit and the sound of his boots hitting the deck reassured him that he had regained some physicality at least.

 

He wanted to say something else, but his emotions constricted his throat, making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. Bilbo waited patiently, too captivated by the beautiful cliffs and rolling hills to take any more notice of his guest.

 

But Thorin no longer cared about their destination, he was far too engrossed by the sight of Bilbo in front of him, unsure how to proceed. Unable to speak past the lump in his throat, Thorin reached out and took Bilbo’s hand in his. He gasped at the warmth and softness which seeped into his hand but it was over far too quickly, as Bilbo finally turned towards him and his hand slipped out of Thorin’s with the force of the movement.

 

Bilbo’s eyes widened as they fell of Thorin’s form. “No,” he gasped out, “No... Who are you? Is this your sick idea of a joke?” Thorin’s heart lurched as he watched Bilbo’s eyes fill with tears. The hobbit backed away from him until he hit the banister, his eyes wide and frightened.

 

Thorin couldn’t even revel in that fact Bilbo could now see him. Bilbo being afraid of him was far worse than him not being able to see him. He hadn’t looked so frightened since... since Thorin had threatened to throw Bilbo from the ramparts.

 

His face constricting in pain, Thorin took a small step towards Bilbo. “I-It’s me, Bilbo. It’s Thorin,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

 

But Bilbo just continued to shake his head, “ _No..._ I watched you die. You- you died after... after the battle. You’re not real,” Bilbo said shakily, all the blood draining from his rosy cheeks, leaving them pale and cold.

 

With deliberate slowness, Thorin took another step and reached out for Bilbo’s hand once more, giving the hobbit enough room to move away should he not want Thorin to touch him. However, Bilbo didn’t move, he just stared up at Thorin as though expecting him to disappear at any moment, to simply drift away with the slightest breeze.

 

But Thorin wasn’t going anywhere.

 

Taking one of Bilbo’s quivering hands in both of his, Thorin stared deep into Bilbo’s eyes as he gently lifted the hand to his chest, so that Bilbo could feel the steady beat of his heart. His heart throbbed when Bilbo let out the breath he’d been holding and his fingers curled against Thorin’s chest, feeling the quickening heart through the thin fabric of Thorin’s shirt. Tears spilled down Bilbo’s cheeks and Thorin could not help but move one his hand’s from Bilbo’s so that he could wipe them away with a sweep of his thumb.

 

Despite the fact that Thorin had spoken to Bilbo many times over the years, to simply stop himself descending into madness, Thorin could find no more words of comfort. It was as though they’d been taken from him, leaving him at Bilbo’s mercy to whom he'd given himself completely.

 

Tentatively, Thorin moved Bilbo’s hand from his chest and up towards his cheek so that Bilbo could feel the scruff of his beard and the soft skin of his cheek. And then Bilbo’s fingers explored on their own, moving through Thorin’s beard and up towards his hairline. Thorin closed his eyes in the sensation of Bilbo’s fingers stroking his hair and moving down one of his braids. Mahal, he’d missed this. Missed Bilbo, missed his gentle eyes and his small hands.

 

Thorin re-opened his eyes when Bilbo’s hand stopped and came to rest on his chest once more.

 

Bilbo sniffed before saying giddily, “You didn’t lose the grey in your hair then,” a fresh wave of tears spilling down his cheeks before Thorin could catch them.

 

Thorin gave a small laugh, “And you didn’t lose that sharp tongue, Amralime.”

 

And that was more than either of them could bear. Bilbo sobbed as he threw himself at Thorin, wrapping his arms around the dwarf who caught him without hesitation. He’d waited 80 years to do this.

 

He buried his face into Bilbo’s curls, inhaling the familiar scent of his burglar and pressing kiss after kiss on his brow.

 

Bilbo’s tears stained Thorin’s shirt, and Thorin hushed his sobs until they both ended up slipping onto the floor of the deck, Bilbo curling onto Thorin’s lap and not relinquishing his hold for a second.

 

“You came back,” Bilbo sobbed whilst Thorin gently rocked him as he replied softly-

 

“I never left.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just had the urge to write something sad :( But I'm a sucker for a happy ending! Hope you enjoyed!  
> Comments, Kudos and critique are much appreciated :)
> 
> Have a majestic day!


End file.
